


Where Late the Sweet Birds Sang

by CloverTheGrand



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Aziraphale Dies (Good Omens), BAMF Michael (Good Omens), Deus Ex Machina, F/F, Fix-It of Sorts, Hurt Gabriel (Good Omens), Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Missing Scene, Well deus ex machina-induced alternate plotm, fanfic of a fanfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-30
Updated: 2020-12-23
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:41:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27790918
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CloverTheGrand/pseuds/CloverTheGrand
Summary: An Archangel appeared in the Ninth Circle of Hell, demanding to know where her brother was.Alternate ending to chapter 24 of DreamsofSpike’s “Descent into Perition”.
Relationships: Crowley/Gabriel (Good Omens), Michael (Good Omens) & Lucifer (OC), michael (Good Omens)/Lucifer (OC)
Comments: 23
Kudos: 39
Collections: Descent Into Perdition and DiP-verse Works





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Descent Into Perdition](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23887096) by [dreamsofspike](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreamsofspike/pseuds/dreamsofspike). 



> The lack of Michael in the past chapters (chapters 20 to 24 I believe) of DiP motivated me to write this 
> 
> My FC for Lucifer is Gillian Anderson as Bedelia du Maurier from Hannibal but if she is a yank

Michael never liked the cold. As the patron Archangel of the military, she was frequently sent to Earth in order to lead battles that would change the course of history. This meant that Michael had first person experiences to the drastic climates of Earth. In particular, a series of bad memories related to fighting in the rain and snow without rest caused Michael to despise the cold. 

In contrast, Lucifer was able to withstand the cold thanks to the temperature of her Hellfire. If you looked at the base of a burning candle, where it was the hottest, you would see that it was blue. That was the colour of the Hellfire she was reborn with. Because of that, Lucifer was able to withstand the subzero temperatures of her office inside the ninth circle of Hell. Until the invention of coats that could withstand extreme cold, no demon nor angel nor even a human soul was able to venture inside there. Yes, it was a very well-protected place while simultaneously not affecting Lucifer at all. 

Which made it all the more shocking when Michael started at Lucifer, perched on her throne, just as Lucifer returned with a stack of papers. 

Lucifer frowned at Michael, then, without breaking eye contact, neatly placed her papers onto the side of the desk. She pulled her cigarette out of her mouth before blowing a gust of smoke away. "What the cuss are you doing in my offi-"

Michael braced her palms onto the wood of her desk, her head leaning close to Lucifer until their noses were only a hair width apart. Her eyes drilled into her skull like chips of ice.

" _Where. Is. Gabriel_."

There had been rumours downstairs that Gabriel had started discarding his role as an Archangel, frequenting Earth often. Apparently they seemed to be true. Lucifer hypothesised that Gabriel was getting used to living a human life. And you know what? Good for him. Nice to get some fresh air then and there. Let him enjoy living on that prototype planet which overstayed its welcome. 

It made sense that Michael was being overprotective of him. She experienced the worst of what this Earth has to offer, and so wouldn't want that to happen to Gabriel, having been protected in Heaven all his life. 

"What about him?"

Suddenly Michael unsheathed her sword from its scabbard and pointed it to Lucifer's throat. "I am repeating this only one time more. _Where is he_?"

Lucifer raised an eyebrow. "Shucks. What's with that tone? All you need to do is to say please, sweetheart."

"Not until I get an answer."

Lucifer raised her eyebrow at the sight of Michael's hands. "You're shivering."

"Irrelevant. Answer my question," she demanded as her breath turned to fog. 

"You'll freeze solid." In a literal sense. Outside was a hall of frozen statues, the souls of the traitors of humanity, displayed like trophies. "Don't draw in deep breaths. Air's too cold. Ice would crystallise inside your lungs."

"That's not-" Michael coughed.

"I told you so." Lucifer studied Michael as she extracted a handkerchief, using difficult maneuvers because of the sword in her hand, and coughed into it. "You know what? I'm feeling generous today so I'll tell you the answer: I do not know."

Michael looked up, eyes wide. "What-"

"What?" Lucifer shrugged. "What evidence do you have besides prejudice and assumptions?"

Michael lowered her sword, then, with shaky hands, sheathed it. "Armageddon failed to happen," she muttered. "The demons of Hell would be very frustrated. And since they don't have to obey the Almighty's permission..."

Lucifer frowned. "What the cuss, Michael. I'm sure he's just traipsing on Earth in a field of daisies or something. I, too, shall repeat this only once more. No, I do not know where Gabriel is. You're wasting your time here."

And Michael couldn't, anyway, in her thin spats and linen pantsuit. 

"I'm going to ask you to go," Lucifer instructed sternly. "You've trespassed into Hell and my office, you've made accusations based on no evidence, and you've threatened me with your sword." Lucifer snapped her talons and a long stairway to the surface was carved into the stone walls. A draft of warm air leaked in, which came from somewhere in New Zealand's South Island where the stairs led. She pointed a gloved talon into the direction. 

"You won't find what you're searching for here. Leave."

Lucifer exhaled deeply through her nose and rubbed her head as she looked down at her desk. There were a lot of papers she needed to finish by today. 

"Go on. Skedaddle," she called, popping the cigarette back into her mouth. "I don't have all day."

Lucifer started organising her papers, showing that she was busy, hoping that Michael would get the memo and leave. It seemed to work, as Lucifer heard a few taps as Michael walked up a few stairs. 

And then she heard a strangled word. 

" _Please_."

Lucifer made the mistake of looking towards Michael. She had begun walking up the stairs but turned herself towards Lucifer. Her hands were clasped in front of her in a desperate attempt to maintain poise, even though she was shivering involuntarily. But most of all, Michael's eyes were wide and dewy, and _vulnerable_. 

And suddenly, Lucifer was looking into the eyes of that quiet soldier angel from so long ago. 

Like it or not, she hated seeing Michael upset. 

That, and there was a reason why Michael rarely got upset. After all those years of knowing Michael, Lucifer knew that Michael always had a level-headed attitude towards danger, and only reacted during extreme situations. Whatever happened to Gabriel was serious, more serious than just relocation

Lucifer ran her talons through her hair. "How long had he been gone for?" She asked. 

"He's been off of our radar for two weeks."

Lucifer stared at Michael at the mention of such a long time. She looked away, fighting a mental battle as she scrunched her nose.

"Cuss," she growled. Lucifer clicked again and a white parka coat appeared in her talons, one appropriate for Antarctic conditions. She awkwardly placed the coat over Michael's shoulders, being careful to never touch Michael without the coat. Lucifer struggled a little due to their 15cm height difference, but she was able to make up most of the height by standing on the tip of her toes. 

Another click later and wood for a campfire appeared in the centre of the office, with a stool right next to it. Lucifer did not dare to ignite it. It could light up with her own Hellfire, which was the opposite of what the Archangel needed. 

"You got a lighter?" Lucifer inquired. Michael frowned at her and dug out a lighter from her pocket. She knelt down and lit the kindling, gently fanning the flames with her breath. Soon, the small flame grew into a decent fire. Michael gently sat on the stool as she exhaled at the flooding warmth. Whether that was a sigh of relief or of exasperation, Lucifer could not tell. 

Lucifer sat on the floor opposite of Michael and crossed her legs. Michael looked at her, expectant. Whatever desperation for mercy was gone and her eyes hardened. Even with that large, fluffy coat, she looked ferocious. 

Lucifer rubbed the back of her neck. "I reckon that for you it'd seem… sensible for a demon to grab an Archangel as a hostage. Especially after Armageddon failed." Michael's eyes flared a golden colour. "Deep breaths. Let me finish. Can't talk if I'm discorporated, no?"

Michael paused, then shook her head. 

"Okay," said Lucifer. "Let's start from the beginning. Tell me everything you know."


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to the marvellous dreamsofspike for beta-ing chapter for me!! Thanks a bunch <3

As the fire’s warmth washed the cold out of her body, and as the coat draped on top of her back, Michael looked at her own clasped hands. How jarring this hospitality was compared to how their meeting had started, with Michael pointing a sword at Lucifer's throat. 

Michael had expected Lucifer to hold the answer, that was all. Michael feared that Gabriel had been taken hostage by Hell, or worse, had fallen. A cankerous thought arose that Lucifer was likely weaseling what sympathy Michael had left for her. That Lucifer was only faking hospitality to manipulate Michael, then trick her into a trap.It was an act Lucifer often put up to gain the favour of others. Unfortunately Lucifer looked so casual as she crossed her legs onto the cold ground, placing her gloved talons on each knee. A subconscious part of Michael reasoned that Lucifer was acting so innocently that she could not possibly be planning anything malicious, especially not on the fly.

"Okay,” Lucifer started, fixing her diamond pupils onto Michael, clapping and rubbing her talons together. The silver dragon scale gleamed gold from the fire. “Let's start from the beginning. Tell me everything you know."

"What do you expect to gain out of this?" Michael asked first. 

Lucifer scratched her neck. "Credibility,” she stated. “Eventually when y'all get desperate enough to find him, the only lead left would be Hell. Better to blame an enemy for lying than to admit you’ve got no leads. So you and Heaven would… ah. Literally move Hell and high water to get him back. I'm not having a surprise invasion and allowing half of Hell’s denizens decimated to find someone not here, so helping you find where he is now would be beneficial for the both of us. Capiche?"

Michael squinted, then sighed when she could not find a fault. Lucifer’s narratives were as intricate as Arachne’s weaving, able to spin logical justifications that gave her merit, then weave them into narratives that shifted seamlessly between reality and fabrication, honesty and deceit, the gaps stuck together so tightly one could find no fault at all. 

Lucifer clasped her talons together. "Right. Describe what happened the last time you saw Gabriel."

Michael gazed at the flickering fire, then tightened her hands. "Armageddon has been affecting us angels in the worst ways.”

Lucifer squinted at Michael, confused as to why she would say something so obvious and seemingly off-topic. “What does Armageddon have to do with Gabriel’s disappearance?”

“The Heavenly Host are all having their faiths tested because it never happened. Gabriel especially. We’ve held monthly orations in Heaven to empower the Heavenly host through these uncertain times, and it was just his turn. But he forgot about it.” 

“ _ Gabriel _ forgetting something so vital to his work?”

Michael nodded. She clasped her hands tighter. “He promised to talk to me about it, right after he finished his talk. And then he seemed to have had an episode and dashed into an elevator to Earth."

A raised eyebrow. Then Lucifer had the audacity to speak of it like a riddle. "An episode? I don’t think Gabriel has ever been the type to get them.” 

“He is now!” Michael sighed. “His character seems to have… decayed ever since Armageddon failed. Like he has given up…”

Lucifer’s eyes turned to saucers. “This thing that has gone on for months is a  _ transformation _ ? Hold up. I need to jot this down.” A swirl of a wrist later and a clipboard appeared in Lucifer's hand. Lucifer clicked a pen. "I need you to summarise his behaviour from the last couple of months. All of it."

Michael blinked. She frowned at Lucifer’s erratic behaviour, then stood up. “Now, I’m sure that it’s simply the outcome of Armageddon-“

“Then why are you here? Why are you not waiting for Gabriel to come back to Heaven? You know that something serious is up, Michael.”

Michael could not argue against that. So she simply sat down, and then explained everything she knew. 

How at first Gabriel had not been paying attention to her memos, and how he, in fact, barely remembered that it was his turn to speak. How Gabriel began to dress down, locking his best suits away inside his wardrobe and instead opting for street wear that humans wore. For the apparent sake of obtaining humility. How Gabriel berated himself for being prideful and outstanding. How Gabriel began avoiding the other angels with various methods, including finding work in the records department, locking himself up inside his office, and miracling his window so that it did not look like he was inside at all. 

Throughout it all, Lucifer wrote them down on her clipboard, then opened many questions that Michael had not even thought of. 

“What has he been doing  _ between _ the memos?” 

“He’s been working,” Michael replied. “That, and going to Earth once a week, but it’s for his weekly jog, which he had been doing nonstop for two centuries…”

There was a pause. “He hasn’t been reading the memos, yet routinely visited Earth for his jog, even though the latter is for leisure and the former is more urgent? Wouldn't his punctual nature mean that he’d prioritise the former? That because Armageddon failed, he would get rid of leisurely activities altogether?  _ I _ can’t even look at Earth without getting angry. So why is he even going to Earth if it’s just a reminder of how Armageddon failed?”

Sometimes it seemed that the more information Michael recounted, the more inquiries Lucifer opened up, and the less everything made any sense. Or sometimes those questions led to dead ends that proved Michael’s initial reasoning that Gabriel was simply troubled by Armageddon’s failure, like the rest of the Heavenly Host. 

"Why would such an extroverted angel like Gabriel suddenly avoid other angels?" Lucifer perused, chewing the tip of her cigar. “He is the messenger of Yah- God. It’s what he was born to do, and what he has done for several thousand years without fail.”

“Several thousand years, nonstop. It could just as well be that he has grown tired of it.”

“And? He could pick himself up again. Not that big of a deal. Can still ruin Earth manually, if he wants to go that route.”

Michael frowned at Lucifer’s cynical words. “It’s not about demolishing the Earth like it is for you. Nor is he as used to turmoil as you, or Hell. It could be about the shame of losing face, and that he had failed the Heavenly Host.”

“There’s got to be another motivational factor. Shame is a very weak motivation for avoiding others. Either you own up to your mistake or you don’t. If not, then that person is cowardly. Wouldn’t think you’d be the type to describe Gabriel in that way.”

“Don’t you accuse angels of always living in the limelight? So much so that they live empty lives? But certainly. Perhaps having one’s ego ruined can’t ruin their lives after all. It’s not like Gabriel’s purpose had always been centred around public image. It’s not like Armageddon was supposed to change anything about our societies at all. So your point is…?”

Lucifer wrinkled her nose. “Cuss.” Then crossed out notes on her clipboard with a series of clean lines. Carry on.”

“Gabriel avoided everyone in Heaven after Armageddon failed. He purposefully avoided conversation. He did not like and avoided being touched, which was something he never had a problem with. He did not even make much effort to see the other Archangels unless it was essential.” 

Lucifer stopped writing. “Hold up, what was that?”

“Gabriel… did not make much effort to see the other Archangels?”

“No, before that.”

“He did not like to be touched… Lucifer, don’t overthink it.” But Lucifer tapped her pen onto her clipboard and scribbled anyway. 

Michael’s answer to all of them was that Gabriel simply needed time by himself to peruse and recover, that it was something only he himself could go through. Yet the more questions that were answered, the more Michael realised that it was a placebo designed to calm herself down. 

The more apparent that Michael had turned such a blind eye on Gabriel.

At last, Michael had finished saying everything she knew. Lucifer was quiet, tapping her pen onto the clipboard as she chewed the cigar with her sharp molars. “From how you’re saying, at the start, it seems that he hasn’t changed much since the last time I had seen him. He is still very punctual and diligent, correct? Doesn’t know much else, so he dedicates his time into serving the Almighty?”

Michael frowned at Lucifer’s wording. "Gabriel promised that he would talk about it. He just never managed to say anything, and fled before he could.”

“Yes. But within the span of a year, he had transformed from that to the demeanour of a timid deer? Think about it. The erosion of individual expression. The isolation from immediate friends. The increasingly frequent trips away from Heaven, his home. 

“Most importantly, the fact that he made punctual visits to Earth and away from Heaven, yet did not enact the same discipline in his work. Don’t you see? It’s almost like something is luring him away. Or…  _ someone _ . And not to mention the drastic change from extroversion to introversion, and the aversion from touch. Whoever they are, they’re changing his behaviour radically.”

“Who then?” Michael shouted. 

Lucifer sucked in a deep breath from her cigar as she sat in contemplation. “My best guess is that he’s getting involved in some sort of cult.”

They were grasping at straws again. Michael sighed. “The reason does not have to be that drastic. Gabriel’s loyal to the Almighty only. He wouldn’t change his allegiance to some cult without a proper reason.”

“Michael, something so drastic in behaviour doesn't happen all on its own. And? Cults function by luring the person away from close friends and forcing them to adopt a new identity. There’s got to be a cult involved.”

“Why a  _ cult _ specifically?”

Lucifer shrugged. “If it’s just one figure, what’s stopping Gabriel from smiting them with lightning? But if it’s a cult, then that would also play into his need to please multiple people. I don’t know how that’d work yet, but it must be multiple people against him.”

Michael frowned. “I don’t believe you-“

“What was his reasoning for staying so modish?”

“He believed that he must present himself as an Archangel all of Heaven can look up to.”

“Why is he wearing chintzy human clothing now?”

“He says that he must be humble and not act like a… a peacock.”

“Why has he always been so open and outgoing?”

“He’s the Almighty’s messenger and entrusted to carry Her message. He must guide Heaven so that Her vision blooms into fruition.”

“So why is he avoiding talking to other angels now? As a leader, wouldn’t he know that communicating is the most important part of his job? Wouldn’t he understand how desperate for answers and guidance you lot are upstairs?”

“That is what I’m trying to figure out.”

Lucifer huffed and dropped the clipboard onto the ground, rubbing her temples with both talons as she glared at her extensive notes. “He’s  _ hiding _ , Michael. His entire philosophy is flipped around. Brutally. What more, it’s done to depower him. A third party’s got to be involved, even if it’s not a cult.”

“But all that could be explained by the fact that he’s upset Armageddon did not happen.”

Lucifer stood up. “Exactly! That’s what they’d  _ want _ you to think! So that no one else would suspect anything! There is a reason you are here, and either we are finding a solution or we are not. And damn it, we are not leaving this room until we agree on something other than stress from Armageddon’s failure!”

Michael blinked. Suddenly the heat of the blazing fire and the office’s frigid temperatures seemed to clash together as her head spun. Her placebo answer had cost Michael much-needed time. The answer she used, that Gabriel simply needed time alone, could simply be counter working itself, and instead isolated Gabriel further. And if he was isolated further from the safety of Heaven, then he would be at the mercy of foes who were strong enough to keep him contained. Then they could've vanished any blemishes so that Heaven was none the wiser. 

But this was not an event that was happening once, no. If Gabriel was visiting them willingly, it would have been because he was conditioned to. And he had done this routine for several months, and because of this, they would’ve had the ample time to poison him, corrupting every inch of his being until irreversible damage was done.

And oh, Michael was so daft for not suspecting anything sooner, and instead resorted to the easy answer. Just because it was believable. Just because it was tame. 

Oh, God have mercy on him. God have mercy on her.

Michael drew in a sharp breath and jolted away as she felt something on her back. Just as fast, Lucifer withdrew a talon back into her chest. Lucifer had moved away from her position and was standing next to Michael. 

Lucifer looked away, shame in her eyes from the lack of self control. Then she lowered her talon. 

How Michael ached to grasp onto something, anything at all. How Michael ached to quench the fear that gripped her heart in an iron vice. How Michael just as equally wanted to save face, and how that triumphed as Michael exhaled and clenched her hands into fists, deciding to shut down too many complex feelings in order to focus on her main mission. Finding Gabriel. 

Michael gazed up at Lucifer, hard determination in her eyes. "Okay. We need to consider who would do this, then.” She then proceeded to stand up and pace around the office. “If it is someone, why wouldn't any demons want to take Gabriel hostage?"

Lucifer pulled the cigar out of her mouth, then twirled it around. "If someone's kidnapping someone with as much institutional power as an Archangel, it would be to make demands from Heaven on  _ behalf _ of Hell. Only problem is, everyone in Hell is looking out for themselves right now. The demons are taking their frustration out on each other, not some angel or God in the sky. We’re all working hard to solve that right now. Let’s… ah. Consider our other options, shall we?”

Lucifer rubbed her temple. She clicked her fingers. “You mentioned he wanted to preach humility, which is a religious thing, no?” Lucifer blinked. “Angels, perhaps…?”

“Ridiculous. They know that they need to respect him, and the old Gabriel would not have allowed them.”

Lucifer nodded, embarrassed that she had suggested something with such an obvious “Yeah. You’re right. Fugetaboutit. Let’s look at the Earth angle instead. Who cares who’s got him, what matters to us is where he is right now. Where on Earth exactly does Gabriel do his jogs?”

A troubling implication was dawning upon Michael, though she did not want to believe in it. “Ever since the Victorian era, St. James.”

Lucifer squinted. “Western Australia?”

Michael rolled her eyes. “The park in London.”

Lucifer’s sulphur blue eyes widened into saucers. “He’s been visiting  _ London _ ?" 

“Perhaps Gabriel changed where he-“

But Lucifer spluttered at Michael anyway, offended by the stupidity. "Michael,  _ I’m _ not even letting demons go there without a permit! Any non respectable demon wouldn't stand a chance! Same goes for you angels. Do you know why? There are two beings there immune to both holy water and hellfire!”

“Yes! So Gabriel would’ve chosen a different location post-Apocalypse.”

“What makes you so sure, huh?”

“Gabriel’s the one who convinced us not to investigate what’s going on there. If anyone knows not to go there, it would be him.” Michael sighed.“Neither Heaven nor Hell have the means to defeat them. So the best choice is to not agitate them. Any attack thrown would be like…  _ pebbles at a lion _ .”

And then Michael’s mind went blank. Her mind replayed the same words Gabriel had said in the meeting from a few months prior, when they debated what to do with these traitors. Of course. He was not only talking about whatever attacks Heaven launched on the two would be rendered null. 

What if he was referring to how his own attempts fighting against the two traitors had been useless? Of course it would be those two loose cannons, one of the few beings in the universe who had the power to contain an Archangel, possessing powers beyond anyone’s knowledge.

How could she have been so blind? 

Michael stood up, then pounded her fist into her open palm. “The traitors. It must be them!” 

“Hold up!” Lucifer gulped. “How can you be so sure specifically?”

“Who else could it be? You said it yourself. London area, with allegiances neither to Heaven or Hell, and multiple members involved. We’ve been sensing an influx of demonic energy radiating from their shop, they definitely have been conniving something for months.” 

An uncertain noise rumbled in Lucifer’s throat. “ _ Any _ demonic energy? They could be making excessive miracles. Not like they needed to monitor their miracle activity anymore.”

Michael squinted at Lucifer. “You are the sovereign ruler of Hell. If anyone knows how the demonic energy is being used, it surely must be you.” Lucifer hesitated. She opened her mouth. “Don’t you dare say that it is confidential information.” Lucifer then closed it.

Lucifer clearly needed more probing to confess, and so Michael continued. “You said that demons aren’t permitted in the London area unless they had a permit. So tell me, Lucifer. Why would you let certain demons visit the bookshop even though it is so dangerous?”

Lucifer growled. “We don’t let them  _ visit _ the bookshop, that’s stupid. Anywhere within a 1 kilometre radius there is off limits.” Michael raised an eyebrow. 

“Do they go there to spy on the duo?” Lucifer’s eyes darted towards Michael with a panicked expression. Got her. “What did they discover?”

Lucifer crossed her arms and looked away. “I’m not telling you.”

Fortunately Lucifer had always been the type to wear her emotions on her sleeve. “Very well,” said Michael. “I will guess the answer until I find the right one.

“Did they report any mentions of Gabriel in London?” No reaction. “Did they report that the traitors are more powerful than we thought? Or did they find out how to stop them?” Still no reactions. Michael asked roughly a dozen more questions, until, at last, she asked one that provoked a reaction. 

“Did they report any usage of Hellfire tools?”

And then Lucifer tensed. 

Michael froze and goosebumps prickled on her skin. But if Hellfire tools were indeed used, it made sense why Heaven could not track Gabriel down— a pair of Hellfire cuffs would be able to seal his power off so that Gabriel was invisible from Heaven. Not only that, but Gabriel would be defenceless against the traitors as his abilities diminished to that of a human’s. 

Lucifer growled at her own slip up. “Fine,” she spat. “The serpent of Eden. They’ve reported that Crawley- no, Crowley, has been gathering ingredients for Hellfire tools.” 

Michael’s head was starting to spin. What more, the traitors chose to hone their abilities into tools for much more precise, brutal results. The thought of the sheer  _ audacity _ the traitors possessed prodded a hot pit of fury to burn in Michael’s stomach. 

“But... they clearly are just cooking up weapons to contain and punish ordinary trespassers,” Lucifer reasoned. “I-I’m sure they’re making Holy tools for demons, too. So if it’s Gabriel they’ve got, they would’ve trapped a demon Prince, too.”

“Was any excess Holy energy sensed from that shop?” Michael demanded. 

Lucifer hesitated. “Heaven’s technology would be advanced enough to hide such vulnerable information. No? I’m assuming that just as much Holy energy is radiating from that bookshop, only disguised, because it’s confidential information.” 

“ _ Assuming _ .”

Lucifer frowned. Then she went pale and sweat began to drip down her forehead. “Did you angels record excess Holy energy radiating from the bookshop?”

The implications were very clear. Of course only Hellfire tools were made, because the traitors only needed tools to conceal angels. Or perhaps, one angel only. “No. We did not.” 

The pieces were starting to align. Gabriel was trapped inside that dark, musty bookshop, his powers disabled by a pair of Hellfire cuffs, so much so that he was at the mercy of the traitors’ every whims. Degraded, debased in the worst ways, tormented by pain that Gabriel was never meant to endure, indoctrinated to follow the traitors’ every petty demands. Michael thought of that snake demon, wicked mania glinting in his blasted ophidian eyes, taunting Gabriel, threatening to cut Gabriel with his venomous fangs or, worse, a Hellfire blade. Michael thought of the principality Aziraphale, glancing at the event apathetically despite Gabriel’s desperate pleas for help, and then he would walk away to leave Gabriel at the demon’s cruelty. 

Michael thought of Gabriel, raising his head up towards the dark ceiling, his violet eyes brimmed with tears, wondering why the Almighty would allow such gruesome pain to exist at all. 

The coat over Michael’s shoulders was shaken off before she proceeded to race up the stairs. “Hey, hey-! Hold up! Don’t leave yet!” Lucifer clasped her by the hand, stopping her from going any higher. “We need to consider-“

Michael tried to shake Lucifer’s grasp away from her. “There is no time! Gabriel is literally helpless against them!”

Lucifer only gripped around her hand tighter. “So you’re willing to go on a suicide mission?!” She roared.

“Yes!”

The ferocity and certainty in the word shocked even Michael herself. Lucifer stared at Michael, her jaw dropped in shock, shock and an indescribable shine in her eyes. She blinked and recomposed herself. Then she let go, nodding slowly. 

“Okay. But we still need to consider whether they have any weaknesses. Because I’m not gonna let Heaven accuse me of murdering two Archangels.” She scrunched her nose. “We can’t kill them with Holy water, we can’t kill them with Hellfire. Can they discorpora- actually, no, don’t discorporate them. That’ll let them unleash all the raw power they have.”

"Lucifer sighed. Then her eyes widened. “Why, I’ve got an idea. They could be knocked unconscious. That’s how we collected them for that execution.”

Michael thought back to the event with a grimace. “They could have just as well been toying with us.”

“Do they bleed?”

“What?”

“Do they bleed. If they can bleed, they can get injured.”

“I… haven’t ever seen them bleed, nor heard of it.”

“Still some probability that they could,” Lucifer reasoned with a shrug. “We don’t know for certain whether their skin and bones are unbreakable or not. But if they are breakable, I suppose you can... chronically injure them until further notice.”

Michael knew that it was a very theoretical technique, based on speculation and no evidence. But that would have to be her main strategy for now.

Surprisingly, as Michael walked up the stairs, Lucifer stayed quiet. But then there was a shrill whistle, causing Michael to look back at her. Lucifer tossed a cardboard tube towards her, causing Michael to fumble until she grasped it with both hands. 

A blue Art Deco-styled banner labelled  _ Lucifers _ was sprawled across the top lid. Her eyes widened as a drop of sweat dripped down her face. Michael had heard of them once. In the middle of the 19th century, Lucifer opened up a factory in some corner of the world that infused her Hellfire into matchsticks. However the ones containing her Hellfire were relatively rare nowadays. All the lucifers Michael had seen were ones with red boxes, containing ordinary Hellfire, and in the smaller pocket-sized portions. Not only were these blue matches the most potently infernal Hellfire there was, but they were large ones designed to light up powerful bonfires in the blink of an eye. Michael’s hands shook as she held what was certainly the closest angelic and demonic equivalent to Pandora's box. 

Carefully, she rotated the lucifers in her hand. “You want me to use them?”

“Yeah? You’ve got a flaming sword, you know how not to get burnt.”

“Are you sure? Michael couldn’t help but begin to panic. “What’s stopping the traitors from overpowering these lucifers?”

Lucifer chewed the tip of her cigar as she avoided eye contact. "Even if those dewdroppers have immunity to Hellfire and Holy water, mine is bound to be trickier. Maybe they’ll buy you some time. Or, in doubt, you could always… burn their base down.”

“But there are powerful wards set up at their bookshop. A building like that has set fire once. Surely they have wards that would stop all fires from ever happening there again. And if they’re more powerful than the lucifers, then attempted arson would only make them furious.” 

Lucifer opened her mouth, then closed it. She sighed, blowing smoke out of her flared nostrils. Michael knew that it was unfair to demand answers that neither of them knew, but Michael was starting to panic from having to face these unknown threats. However Lucifer perked up and lifted a finger, as if she needed to say something. Michael leaned in. 

“Ah… those matches. They’re positively infernal. Yes? Well. Nothing is more infernal as… attacking the two traitors the Almighty spared.”

Michael blinked, wondering what reasoning Lucifer was using. However what seemed to be a grin curling at the corner of Lucifer’s mouth. “Nothing is more infernal than ignoring pre-established rules, surely.” 

Michael frowned. And then all tension in Michael was released as she rolled her eyes. 

She realised what Lucifer was trying to do— use dry humour to make the mission not as daunting. It was terrifying to think of where Gabriel was, yes. But too much panicking was frightening Michael silly, and with the odds against her, Michael needed a clear, tranquil mind if she was to rescue Gabriel from the traitors. 

But if that was Lucifer’s intention, could it be that Lucifer believed Michael had what it took to stand up against the renegades? Michael looked at the tube, trying to think up a suitable reply. “And… how would this look for you?”

"It’s my Hellfire, Michael. If their bases get destroyed? Ah. All the better for me to take the credit." Lucifer pulled up a grin. 

Michael screwed up courage and mustered up the strength to return a shy smile. 

But gratitude was for later, when the weapon was done being used. Now? There was no time to waste. Without another word, Michael turned around and climbed up the stairway to Earth as she clutched the cylinder in her hands. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Michael beats the shit out of Aziraphale

The area around the Soho bookshop was completely deserted, with not a human soul out. An ominous air hummed throughout the site, which would have sparked any human’s instincts to desert the area. And this miasma’s epicentre was the renegade Principality’s bookshop. 

Michael had observed a technique human farmers used to drive foxes out of their dens. First, the farmers would light fire at the entrance. Then they would use a fan to waft smoke into the underground tunnel. Within its dense clay den, the fox would have nowhere to go but out. And so they would dash out of the Earth and into the open, only to find themselves face to face with the barrel of the farmer's gun. 

The fire of her sword would be too weak to penetrate the wards of the bookshop. Michael pulled out the Lucifer tube matches from under her suit before popping the lid open. Instantly the potent smell of sulphur scratched her nose as infernal energy radiated from the cluster of bright blue heads. 

This was a very dangerous tool. If not careful, Gabriel could die in the fire. But she had no other choice. Michael untied her cravat and tied it over her nose. Carefully, Michael pulled out a single long stick. Then, she struck it down the shop’s concrete foundation. The match head sizzled and popped loudly as a blue flame flared, rippling the air with extreme heat. Michael wiped a drop of sweat that dripped down her head. Then she cautiously positioned it onto the wood. 

The wood flared and set on fire with blue flame. Michael grinned, then set off to work. She traced the walls of the bookshop around and around, setting ablaze the door, walls, the ceiling.

The fire would devour the bookshop from the outside in. With all entrances sealed shut and with all the walls enveloped with fire, whomever were in the building would all have no choice but to come out into the open through a miracle.

* * *

Just before Crowley clicked the watch around Gabriel’s wrist, he frowned and his nose scrunched. Gabriel simply stayed where he was, not daring to jerk away, ready to face Crowley’s wrath. 

Then a potent smell overcame him that almost made Gabriel gag, and he realised what Crowley was reacting to. 

A sharp smell of smoke and sulphur leaked into the room from the outside.

Hellfire.

Crowley clicked and then Gabriel found himself exposed, out of the streets. A sense of nausea overcame him at the sudden exposure of outside the street. After spending so long inside the dark back room, Gabriel’s eyes strained from the bright light outside. His eyes watered as the cobblestone rubbed into his raw wounds. He bit his lip to stop a hiss at the sensation of something cloaking him, only to realise that Crowley had miracled a blanket to protect his modesty. 

The bookshop was set ablaze by hellfire, a blue so bright his eyes ached. He widened his eyes, and wondered whether Lucifer was here. Could it be that Aziraphale, sick of Gabriel’s status as an Archangel, ordered Lucifer here to turn Gabriel into a demon? But why would the entire bookshop set on fire? Aziraphale was staring at the scene before him, knelt down, silent. Gabriel’s throat scratched, begging for him to cough, but he managed to suppress it so that only a silent exhale came out. The fire gleamed on the Hellfire knife and the watch he held, which Gabriel realised Crowley must have dropped in his hurry. 

Aziraphale stood up, sleeve over his nose. He coughed, turned around, then glared at them both like he was betrayed. 

Moreso, the fact that Crowley chose Gabriel. 

But then Aziraphale looked at the spot behind them with widened eyes, as if disbelieving what he was seeing. Gabriel blinked as he turned around, where Aziraphale looked. The strong glare was making him dizzy, making Gabriel doubt whether he was indeed imagining things.

“Michael?” Gabriel blinked, tears welling in his eyes, and he thought of how pitiful he looked in her perspective. Oh no. Oh no. He had led Michael here for her to fall at Aziraphale’s mercy. Aziraphale would be angry, and then he would annihilate her, making sure thay her last moments would be in agony. She never should have come here at all. 

He shook his head as Michael slowly approached him, like one would to a wounded deer. "Michael? Please. Go home. He’s- he’s going to _destroy_ you!"

Michael's gaze hardened as she looked at Crowley. Then she lifted her palm and clenched. A strangled cry came out of Crowley as he was lifted into the air by the neck, his feet dangling in the air as he clawed at the invisible pressure around his neck. When Michael flung her fist to the side, Crowley crashed into an empty building, and Crowley cried as a spurt of blood came out of his mouth.

"NO!" Gabriel clasped his hands over his mouth at the escaped word.

Michael looked at him, pitiful yet confused. She continued to advance towards him. With his legs damaged, Gabriel had no choice but to cower into the pavement as he shook his head.

"Forget about me. Don't make this worse. I'm… I'm so sorry. Forget about me. _Please_..."

Gabriel hushed when Michael gently cupped his face, gazing into his eyes with her pale sky blue ones. Gabriel wanted to cower from such close eye contact, but couldn't bring himself to look sway. He flinched and wrapped his arms around himself when Michael gazed down at his many wounds on his bare torso. Sensing that she was making Gabriel uncomfortable, she focused on his face instead.

Her forehead inched forward to Gabriel's, her eyes filled with warmth and uncertainty. "Is… this alright?" She asked. Gabriel nodded silently. Michael grimaced at how he did not say anything. "I am going to clear you of your pain. Okay?" Gabriel nodded again.

Michael nodded, then she touched his forehead with her own. 

A wave of warmth scanned his body slowly, from the head, slowly to the torso. The sensation was warm and comforting, and a sigh of relief left his lips as the pain slowly ebbed away. Yet there was this probing, interrogating questioning: how? How did this happen to you? She reminded the damage of the wounds, desperate to find out what happened. There was a coarse furrow in Michael's brow as she attempted to penetrate Gabriel's memory, and Michael's eyes darted left and right under her eyelids, as if wanting to answer the many questions that came unto her mind.

Gabriel had no choice in refusing Michael's attempts to heal him, especially as she risked her life like so. But there was one scar she should not see. No. No. Especially not the one scar inside him that marked his shame.

Gabriel couldn't help but shake his head and jerk away, even as the coarse, cold pavement dug into his newly-healed knees. _No. No. Don't look._ Michael simply gripped his head tighter in an attempt to ground him. 

"Shh…"

He stilled. Then Gabriel went lax, and Michael discovered the deepest wound. The memory of how it came to be was surrendered. The searing agony of the Hellfire, the constriction of his limbs. 

And Aziraphale's cold, piercing words. 

Michael's eyes flung open, golden light sparking from her eyes out of hot fury. Slowly, she turned her head over her shoulder, looking straight at Aziraphale. 

"Don't, Michael. _Don't_ , you'll just make him mad!"

Michael marched towards Aziraphale anyway, her eyes sparking a bright gold. The sharp smell of gunpowder and stardust filled the air. 

Then, Aziraphale did something that Gabriel thought he would never do. 

Aziraphale _cowered._

* * *

Two hundred years. Two hundred years worth of memories burnt to nothing. Aziraphale's prized bookshop erupted in infernal blue flames. Not only did the general of the Heavenly Host find them, but his dearest Crowley was injured by her through a mere flick of the wrist.

This was your fault. This was all your fault, you pathetic excuse of an angel, he thought as he glared at Gabriel. Once he overcomes this ordeal, this tattling dove will be so, so sorry. 

But the worst thing was, it did not matter what Aziraphale thought. What mattered to the unbridled Archangel was that she was _furious_ at him. As Michael advanced, her celestial power to its max, Aziraphale knew then that he fucked up. 

The fire in Michael’s eyes died when Aziraphale presented the Hellfire dagger before her. He swung, but Michael clicked and summoned her own sword, so that the two metals clashed with a sharp clang. 

Even if Aziraphale was a soldier, he was still an ordinary angel against a raging Archangel, who showed little signs of weakness even as the pain swallowed her up. It did not matter that she was weakened. If this kept up, Michael was going to overtake him. 

Aziraphale’s wings erupted out of his back as he flew to the sky to cover more ground, and Michael followed him to fight in the skies as well. 

* * *

The two angels darted across the sky as their weapons clashed together, sending sparks flying off of the blades. Crowley looked at the commotion with panicked eyes, processing so many sudden things that had happened.

Crowley looked at Gabriel, who was still crouched on the street, looking at the scene before him in horror. A pang went through Crowley, knowing that he was frightened for Michael’s life. 

Crowley had just about had enough of Aziraphale’s bullshit. 

Crowley wobbled onto his feet and paced towards Gabriel. He took off his jacket and folded it in half before placing it over Gabriel’s wrists, the soft lining facing inwards. 

“What are you doing?”

Crowley cracked his knuckles. “Let’s give this another go, yeah?” 

“You’ll burn yourself worse than last time!”

Crowley bit into his lip and he clasped two hands around one of the bronze cuffs. He screamed through clenched teeth as his hands met a cuff. Even with the jacket in the way, the pain seared his palms sizzled like steak on a hot griddle. Crowley screamed, but told himself that a little pain was nothing compared to the months of torture Gabriel went through. With all his might, he persevered anyway and pulled the cuff apart. The metal fell onto the cobblestone with a clang.

* * *

Michael was momentarily distracted by the scene that happened on the street below, and her attention was unfocused for a split second. But a split second was all he needed. 

Aziraphale lunged and snapped the watch onto Michael's wrist. As he twisted his ring, Michael cried out in shock as she jolted from the pain. 

He seized this opportunity and punched Michael in the face, causing her to drop her sword

Aziraphale grabbed Michael by the neck as he brandished the Hellfire knife, the blade hovering dangerously close to her throat. 

"Surrender, or-" 

And then Aziraphale screamed. His extended forearm twisted until the bones splintered and popped out of their sockets. The knife slipped out of his hand, its heel sliding down Aziraphale’s form before it fell onto the ground.

Michael had seized his forearm and twisted it. Of course, Michael was not Gabriel. She tended to solve her problems with force rather than persuasion, so Aziraphale’s mind games had no use here.

Aziraphale pulled away as he clutched his injured arm. However Michael was looking at Aziraphale cautiously with wide eyes. It looked as though she had not expected this result either. It must be confusing to see a self-proclaimed, invincible angel be hurt by a broken arm. What more, it seemed that Michael only needed her thumb and middle finger in order to snap Aziraphale's forearm off their pockets. It reminded him of how powerless he really was against the Archangel. 

Even as she trembled from the pain, Michael seemed to realise how he may not be as invincible as he said he was. Because his other arm was injured, Aziraphale bit at the gem of the ring and twisted it back and forward again, and Michael convulsed in pain. Michael's eyes hardened as she looked at the ring. The sword simply appeared in her hand again after a wave of the hand and she swung at Aziraphale’s remaining arm. 

* * *

In the sky, a scream erupted out of Aziraphale’s mouth as golden ichor jetted out of the stump. 

Aziraphale’s detached hand thumped onto the pavement, cracking the ring’s gem. It twitched, then went limp. 

Crowley was staring at the image before him, his large, golden eyes round as his skin turned pale and sweaty. 

No matter how much Crowley wanted to protect Gabriel from Aziraphale’s wrath, he still loved Aziraphale. This was it. This was the point when Crowley decided that he should side with Aziraphale. Crowley just wanted to help Gabriel because he was repulsed at Aziraphale’s brutality. But now that Aziraphale was harmed because of Gabriel, he will wake up and walk away, as if he realised that it was supposed to be their side against his. 

Gabriel closed his eyes and prepared for Crowley to walk away. 

But he didn’t. Instead, Crowley placed the jacket over the other cuff, as if he was simply continuing his mission. Then he pulled the cuffs apart again, his face red and veins bulging on his forehead from the excruciating effort. Until finally, both cuffs limped uselessly on the pavement. 

Crowley clicked and they disappeared. Then he reached forward, intending to heal Gabriel’s wrists. But Gabriel found himself cupping the back of Crowley’s hands first. It was unfair for Crowley to heal him when he burnt himself so much just to help Gabriel, which was more mercy than what he deserved at all. Now that he was freed, attempting to heal him was the least he could do. 

Ashamed, Gabriel simply bowed his head. Gabriel did not know how to express that so he simply looked into Crowley’s eyes with a desperate look and hoped that was enough. Then he closed his eyes and tried to tap into his vast celestial power. But Gabriel saw only darkness. Whatever remained was but an ember, flickering so far away, so dimly. 

* * *

Aziraphale fell. 

Aziraphale fell, and he crashed into the cobblestone so hard he created a crater. 

He groaned at a sharp pain that throbbed in his broken arm. But he had little time to assess it, for Michael had landed beside him. She exhaled, relieved of the pain. The watch, now unlatched, slipped off from her wrist and dropped uselessly onto the ground. 

With both arms now useless, Aziraphale had no other choice but to evade. He tried to shift out of the crater but Michael pinned Aziraphale down by stomping on a wing joint, ripping another scream out of Aziraphale. She paid no heed and grinded her heel, crushing the bone and forcing the flesh to rub into the dirt and shale shards.

“Michael, I am sure we can be diplomatic and talk-“

Aziraphale’s eyes bulged and he gagged up golden ichor out of his mouth and nose as Michael stomped her heel through his abdomen, stomping a hole and crushing the flesh and the spine. Michael’s eyes blazed with fury, flaring a gold so intense the air hummed. 

Michael did not say a word as she crushed her fingers into Aziraphale’s shoulders until the bones creaked, nor when she slammed Aziraphale into the broken cobblestone over and over again. But her fury was so potent Aziraphale could hear echoes of her thoughts coming from beyond the ether, one he could feel in his flesh, in his bones. 

_Die. Die. Die._

At last Michael gripped Aziraphale by the collar and raised a fist that crackled and popped with celestial energy. Out of reflex Aziraphale lifted both of what was left of his arms and winced at the incoming punch. 

Miraculously, the attack did not come. 

Aziraphale opened his eyes and looked at Michael. Michael’s eyes had dimmed, though they were focusing on a spot on Aziraphale’s arm. 

Through the anger at his tattling dove and the disappointment at his deceitful serpent, through the destruction of his home and the fear for his life, through the ache of his twisted elbow and his dismembered wrist, through the miasma of sulphur and gunpowder in the air, all the other pain Aziraphale registered was muted. So much so that he did not notice a feverish burn flaring inside his body, and how it came from a single, little epicentre. 

When he dropped the Hellfire knife, it had cut him.

Michael studied the little scratch on the stump, which must have bloomed into large, red wound by now. She blinked, and her eyes snuffed out as she resumed her typical placid, clinical expression. Then, Michael placed Aziraphale down and walked away, into the direction where the Hellfire knife had landed. 

A sense of despair was starting to fill him as a feverish fire arose inside his skin, making everything too hot, yet too cold. Aziraphale did not bother speaking to Gabriel. Gabriel was such a useless, snitching angel. Gabriel still dared to think of himself useful, trying, and failing, to heal Crowley even with his limited power. But Crowley? Crowley was Aziraphale’s final chance.

“Crowley…” Aziraphale groaned. Crowley widened his golden ophidian eyes and stared at Aziraphale. A small grin curled at the corner of Aziraphale’s mouth. “Not in the best shape, am I? Help me, love. Please. Don’t let her take away my life. We’ve been through 6000 years together, we cannot end it now.”

Slowly, Crowley got up to his feet and took a step into Aziraphale’s direction. To Aziraphale’s shock, Crowley simply stood on the same spot. By now Michael had carefully picked up the knife by the handle. Aziraphale’s blood was pulsing and ringing in his ears

“Don’t throw it all away,” Aziraphale spat. “We worked so hard to stop Armageddon, to finally live! She won’t listen-” More blood bubbled up Azirpahale’s throat from how much he was straining himself, and his vision was beginning to mottle with dark splotches. Aziraphale spat out the blood and swallowed, then glared at Crowley. “Say something!”

Crowley’s lips parted and his naked eyes betrayed him, gazing upon Aziraphale with the empathy Aziraphale knew Crowley was capable of. But he simply clenched his hands into fists as he stood his ground. Michael was walking over to Aziraphale now. Yet Michael was slow. Too slow. The Hellfire of the knife had spread everywhere and set every inch of Aziraphale ablaze with a furious fever. 

Tears slipped down Aziraphale’s face, mingled with blood. “Crowley. I love you. I’ve always loved you, and I know you love me too. Don’t let me die.”

Crowley widened his eyes as his lips parted, and Aziraphale thought that he was finally on his side. But Crowley only frowned. Then turned away to face Gabriel. Michael used the tip of her shoe to tilt Aziraphale to meet her steel cold gaze, and she lifted the knife over her head. Pain. There was only pain. Aziraphale thrashed his head and wailed, as if he was burnt alive. 

“CROWLEY-!” Aziraphale cried, tears dripping down his face from such betrayal for him. But Crowley did not seem to react at all. Aziraphale exhaled, coughing up blood mingled with flesh. And then he said his last words. 

“You’ll regret this for the rest of your days.”

Michael brung her hands down and drove the knife into Aziraphale’s chest. All tension in Aziraphale’s muscles were gone and his corpse collapsed onto the ground.

The last thing Aziraphale had ever seen was Crowley, ignoring him as he knelt down in front of Gabriel. He could not hear him because of the pain that seemed to throb in his blood, his bones, his flesh. But it was clear that Crowley was consoling him, holding his hands by the fingers as he healed the wounds on Gabriel’s wrists.

Aziraphale died, knowing that because he had damaged Gabriel like so, into such a pathetic state, Crowley hated him.

* * *

Gabriel was shaking throughout each of Aziraphale’s demands, and Crowley was, too. But Crowley ignored them all and simply walked back to Gabriel’s side. Ignoring his burnt hands, Crowley touched Gabriel’s knuckles with his fingertips, asking. And Gabriel gently wrapped his hands around Crowley’s in response. They held onto each other until finally, Aziraphale was silent. Crowley let out a long exhale through the nose, then slowly waved his hand around Gabriel’s wrist, reversing every day’s damage on them, layer by layer.

Just before Crowley finished, he was pushed away by Michael, who glared at him over her shoulder. Her expression softened as she looked at Gabriel’s half-healed wrists, then waved a hand over them, causing fresh skin to knit over the scorched tissue. Crowley slowly stood up and walked towards the lifeless Aziraphale, looking down at his remains. His eyes that he once knew were filled so much with compassion and love were, then juxtaposed with sadism and lust, were now empty like glass. It shocked Crowley how ordinary this looked, and how simply a corpse remained of the angel he met on the Eastern gate, who walked the Earth with him for 6000 years. 

How could something capable of so much cruelty look so ordinary? How could someone so wicked and overbearing die so ordinarily? Perhaps that was the rub. To Crowley, Aziraphale had always been innocent. Crowley was the wicked demon, after all, and not only was Aziraphale the angel who was always right, but he was such a kind angel for taking Crowley under his wing. 

Crowley had wanted to wrap himself in those lies. Pretend that he was grateful that Aziraphale could look at him without disgust. But because of that Crowley turned a blind eye to all of Aziraphale’s own lies to him. How he twisted narratives to make himself innocent. How he played on Crowley’s worst fears to get what he wanted. How Aziraphale had gaslit, beaten, and raped Gabriel behind Crowley’s back until the damage was nearly irreversible. Crowley looked back over his shoulder. Michael was crouched by Gabriel’s side as he gazed at Aziraphale’s corpse with lost, troubled eyes.

Gabriel closed his eyes, as if he was going to speak. Then, with a shaking hand, he gently placed his index finger in front of his lips. A chill went up Crowley’s spine at the obedience, and he knew that it was a gesture Aziraphale taught him. 

Michael looked at him quizzingly, not sure what Gabriel wanted. Gabriel opened his eyes at the lack of a verbal reaction, then placed his hand down, cowering. Ashamed.

“I was… I was wondering whether t-this was all over. A-and whether I’d see him again.” Gabriel shook his head, as if frustrated by his clunky exposition. “What am I bitching about. He’s dead. He’s dead.”

Michael gazed at his bowed head with sadness in her eyes. She carefully reached out for Gabriel’s cheek with a hand, but withdrew them.

The scene before Crowley made him realise just how much the Archangels were imperfect beings, just as liable to mistakes and vulnerabilities as the rest of them. And when Aziraphale saw the imperfect being beneath that armour, that facade, he proceeded to beat it down to the bones. 

Crowley knelt down and brushed away a stray, springy lock from Aziraphale’s forehead using the tip of one finger. A sense of déjà vu overcame him. After Armageddon was stopped, Aziraphale would follow Crowley’s habits and sleep more. Crowley would do the same motion whenever Aziraphale was asleep, upstairs in the apartment, whether it was in the bed or in his favourite armchair. As the sunset lit his golden hair into a halo, Crowley had never fathomed how lucky he was to have his perfect angel. 

But Crowley knew better now. It did not matter how much Crowley cared for him. Their love had always been a perfect illusion, and Crowley did not want to forgive him for what he had done to Gabriel. 

Crowley stretched his palm out. Then, with shaking fingers, he closed Aziraphale’s eyes.

"Dispose of the remains however,” he answered as he stood up. 

Michael nodded. She walked over to Aziraphale and pulled out a tube of Lucifers, then dropped a lit match onto Aziraphale. The blue fire ate away Aziraphale’s corporation, then erupted into a bonfire that engulfed him whole. Within the sulphur, Crowley could smell scents of Aziraphale. His cologne, the smell of old books, of vanilla. At last, the fires smouldered away, leaving not even ash. 

By now the fire of the bookshop had smouldered, too, leaving only an empty plot of soil from where the bookshop once stood. More than two hundred years of history, gone in a single afternoon. 

Light as a feather, Michael lifted Gabriel into her arms, cocooned in the large woollen blanket. Just as Michael turned her back away from Crowley, Crowley asked:

"May I go with you?"

Michael glared at Crowley with mistrust. A sense of shame overcame him, and he berated himself for asking such a stupidly obvious question.

Gabriel looked at Michael and opened his mouth, as if wanting to speak. Then he closed it out of habit. Crowley’s stomach lurched. Luckily Michael looked at Gabriel, a curious look as to what he needed to say. 

"He's got scars from trying to help me,” Gabriel started cautiously. “They can’t heal here because they’re from Aziraphale. He needs to get them healed in Heaven."

Michael blinked at Gabriel’s defense for Crowley. Her blue-green eyes drifted back to Crowley, then down at his hands. Crowley couldn’t help but jerk them back. Then, slowly, he unfurled them, though Crowley still held his hands in a loose grip. 

“Show me,” Michael requested. 

Crowley stepped forward hesitantly. He rotated his hand so that the palm pointed skywards. Supporting Gabriel with one arm, Michael slipped a hand beneath it. She frowned at the vivid red scars and burns, as well as the deep valleys carved from prior burnings.

She put his hand down. “One wrong move and you’re joining the Principality.” In reality Michael could’ve healed Crowley here. But she must have suspected that Gabriel wanted Crowley to accompany him, and her acceptance of the excuse was the signal of her permission. 

One lie for another. Crowley couldn’t help but berate himself for letting Gabriel believe that he was indebted to him when Crowley started this in the first place. 

They needed to return to London’s Heaven and Hell headquarters, but Michael could not be seen carrying Gabriel across London by the humans, so Crowley knew that he had to drive them there. The Bentley was parked on the other side of the street, so Crowley made an effort to reach for Bentley's backseat handle and open it. A scene earlier in the day replayed in Crowley’s mind at how Bentley locked her doors to keep Aziraphale out. This time, the Bentley door popped open. 

Michael looked at Crowley quizzingly at the act, and Crowley remembered that she and Gabriel could just as well travel there by the snap of Michael’s fingers. Crowley cursed at himself. He could be all the sycophant he wanted and assist in irrelevant details all he wanted, that did not excuse how it was Crowley’s fault this mess had started. 

Gracefully, Michael held Gabriel in her arms as if he was as light as air and slipped into the Bentley. 

Crowley drove them to the Heaven Hell headquarters in silence. During the journey, Crowley studied at the two through his rear view mirror. Gabriel was blinking as he gazed at the empty space before him, too exhausted to sit up straight. Michael directed Gabriel’s head onto her shoulder, and might as well, because he looked like he was about to collapse. 

Michael placed a hand onto her lap, palm facing upwards. Gabriel carefully placed his shaking palm onto Michael’s, then grasped around her hand. Michael stroked the back of his hand in a gentle, methodical pattern, and the tension slowly escaped from Gabriel’s shoulders with each exhale. Until at last, Gabriel closed his eyes and drifted off into sleep. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I edited this at 10:30 so typos and rushed pacing and lack of continuity galooore 8D I know that Aziraphale’s bookshop is situated in a corner, therefore Michael can’t quite get a complete circle, but fuck it I guess she continued tracing the perimeters of the shop and went up the walls and ceiling. 
> 
> I am debating whether or not I should continue this, because while I do have a loose plan, there’s a lot of questions which I do not know how to answer. Would Gabriel be left to recover at Heaven’s hospital wards, or would he go work again immediately? How would Gabriel react to knowing that it was Crowley in that elevator? How would Gabriel react knowing that the Hellfire tools he was tortured with was made by Crowley? Would Michael even let Crowley see Gabriel at all if she knows that? How would Heaven and Hell react knowing that Crowley and Aziraphale’s respective Holy water and Hellfire immunity are fake? I know that I need Anathema here somewhere, somehow. All that, and I’ve already got about 50 wips. So until further notice, this will be the final chapter. 
> 
> Thank you for reading!


End file.
